Page 88 of Midnight Between Us
I rise from my seat, shove my hands into my pockets, and take a slow walk around the property.The sun presses down, thick and humid, the kind of heat that makes your shirt cling and your patience burns off fast.The air smells of damp grass and dust, a mix of old earth and too many summers spent pretending this place doesn’t have a murky past.
I spot the sheriff’s cruiser rolling up the long drive.It’s a bit off-putting not to see the old, rusted car I used to know.This one is sleek black.An SUV with tinted windows and a shiny sign that reads ‘Birchwood Springs Sheriff.’It’s weird how something so small punches a hole through the illusion that this town hasn’t changed.As if time moved on without bothering to ask for permission.
Malerick steps out of the driver’s seat like he owns the place—because, in a way, he does.Sheriff’s badge on his chest, uniform crisp, as none of this touches him.He closes the door without looking my way, then starts walking toward me, easy and unbothered, like this is just another routine call.
It’s so fucking weird that my brother is the sheriff.
We used to be the ones riding in the back of the cruiser—bloody-knuckled, split lips, shirts torn and adrenaline high.And yeah, before you start judging, we weren’t picking fights for sport.We fought to protect.Ourselves.Each other.Kids who didn’t have anyone else.It wasn’t pretty, but it was never pointless.
Now he’s the guy behind the wheel and wearing the badge.I might call this a case of going full circle.
“I’ve always thought that for a doctor’s house, this place doesn’t exactly scream low profile,” Malerick mutters, stepping close enough I can smell his aftershave—some woodsy thing that tries too hard.“Look at you.You don’t look like a dead man anymore.”
I raise an eyebrow.“Is this you trying to be funny?”
“I’m fucking hilarious, asshole.”He claps a hand against my shoulder—hard enough to sting but not enough to break one of my ribs.“You fucking scared me.One minute, you’re ranting about selling the company, and the next?I couldn’t get ahold of you.If Del’s coffee shop hadn’t blown up the next night ...”
He trails off.It’s subtle, but I see it—his eyes narrow, his jaw goes still.Those gears in his head are turning, connecting something.I can almost hear the click as it slides into place.
“It was a fucking distraction,” he says, more to himself than to me.“They fucked with her to stop me.”
“Are you okay?”I ask.
He shakes his head.It’s more like an I-can’t-fucking-believe-it.“I was going to check on you the next day.I told everyone I was off-duty, planned to swing by first thing.But then the café exploded and I couldn’t just leave Del and the town ...they knew.They fucking knew I wouldn’t move from Birchwood Springs and try to track you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”I ask, heart drumming faster now.Not from panic.From something else.A sick itch of knowing we’re circling something real.
He runs a hand through his hair.“It makes sense.They didn’t want me at your place.When I finally made it over, everything was upside down.Torn apart, as if someone was looking for something particular.Your laptop, your phone—gone.”
“Did you check under the boards?”I ask, low and flat, already knowing the answer.
He looks at me like I just kicked his dog.“Of your office?Yeah, like you told Atlas.”
“No, not just the office.”I step in, pulse picking up.“My apartment.I backed up everything—emails, documents, encrypted notes in another computer.I stash it under the floorboards there, too.There might be some cash there—I know how much it is so they better bring me every single one of those bills.”
Malerick exhales hard and drags a hand down his face.“Fuck.”
He’s already reaching for his phone, muttering something under his breath about how Atlas is going to lose his shit because he doesn’t want to go to the city again.His fingers are flying across the screen, dialing.
“This is on me,” he says, pacing now.“I didn’t tell them about the apartment.I didn’t think—fuck, I should’ve known.You’ve always hidden things.Like a little paranoid raccoon.”
“Thanks for that,” I mutter.
“Shut up, I’m working.”Malerick waves me off like I’m an annoying intern who wandered into the ER for the drama.He’s already pacing, barking orders into his phone.“Yeah, we need a team to check his apartment.Pull up the floorboards—no, all of them.”
He stops, nods, then shakes his head like whoever’s on the other end just gave him the dumbest possible answer.“Well, we’ll need to figure it out and soon.”A pause, then a smirk aimed directly at me.“Sure, I’ll let him know he’s an asshole.”
“Who’s pissed at me now?”
“Atlas.You upset Simone.”Mal’s voice turns mocking, eyebrows rising as he gestures like he’s quoting Shakespeare.“And his woman had to leave his side—with their baby.”He snorts.“That man is whipped.I’ve seen it up close, but I can’t believe he’s a dad.Can you imagine being a father?”
I let out a dry laugh that tastes bitter.I don’t have to fucking imagine.I am a father.Apparently, I just fucked it all up so spectacularly that they couldn’t reach me and tell me.
Mal narrows his gaze at me, the teasing gone.“So, what did you do to Simone?”
“How do you know it was me?”
He shrugs.“Lilah got a text from her asking for wine, ice cream, and ...I think she said baby snuggles.Then she kicked Cass and me out—from his house.She said the Timberbridge women didn’t need to deal with us.”
